By Brian Keene
The muses are monsters. With them, we are living and die.
Since his earliest tales, Brian Keene has deconstructed the mystique of the writing existence. Isolation, relationships misplaced, lengthy hours, inconsistent paychecks, heartbreak are all a part of the activity. Keene has unflinchingly laid naked the realities of the full-time author. Where we are living and Die collects Brian Keene's most sensible tales in regards to the writing lifestyles, together with his metafictional ghost tale masterpiece "The woman at the Glider," a glimpse of Adam Senft (from Keene's Dark Hollow and Ghost Walk) in Hell, and a never-before-printed spoken be aware poem encapsulating the historical past of the horror style. Where we are living and Die is a masterful assortment by way of a Grandmaster of Horror and a fictional guidebook for the operating author.
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Additional info for Where We Live and Die
Disappointingly, he was pretty much as I had expected from his voice: unremarkable and dour. He was tall and dull looking in the way only lawyers and bank managers managed to look dull, dressed in an expensive blue serge suit that was very carefully just out of fashion. It was also several cloth weights too heavy for the time of year and the elbows had glossed with too much desk leaning. Like his elbows, the dome of his skull seemed worn and his scalp shone through the thinning dark hair. The small, beady eyes that watched me through wire-framed spectacles had a look that I guessed was meant to be superior or intimidating.
The young policeman who was shot and killed by the Empire Exhibition robbers. ’ ‘The word biblical comes to mind,’ I said. ’ ‘Exactly. Well Gourlay wasn’t just any bobby on the beat. This was Nineteen thirty-eight and Willie McNab was a young PC himself. Gourlay was a friend. A drinking buddy at the Masonic Lodge and Orange Hall and Christ knows where else. Willie McNab took Gourlay’s murder to heart, and it became a personal crusade for him to find Strachan and watch him drop through the hatch at Duke Street or Barlinnie.
In any case, I hadn’t pushed Fraser for more information. The other reason was that he was a lawyer in a firm whose name I recognized. Being an enquiry agent, the city’s lawyers were a key source of legitimate jobs. Mainly divorces, which under Scottish law required some upstanding member of society such as myself to testify that some other member of society had been upstanding when, where and with whom he shouldn’t have been. After Isa and Violet left, I had a couple of hours before my appointment with Fraser.